Never Too Late : A Romantic Story by Rachel Sabor Read Free Book Online Page B

bit of rebellion inside her lashe d out, and she reached across the small gap between them and shook it. She felt something slid e into her palm. She didn't say anything to Brad, but closed her hand into a fist when sh e broke grips with Cale. "You too."
    Cale gave a mock salute and walked away. Brad shook his head as he left. "What a loser." Am y couldn't help but groan a little in her throat, but Brad didn't hear.
    As he led her away, into what would be a night of dispassionate sex and a morning of Am y hating herself, she snuck a peek at the piece of paper Cale had slid into her hand.
    "Seriously, it was nice to meet you." It was followed by a phone number. She crumpled it up , but rather than dropping it as she walked away, slid it into her pocket.
    #
    The weeks had all cycled around her and blurred together. In the midst of one her self-pit y sessions, she came to the conclusion that her life meant very little. She had few friends, a boyfriend that was mentally absent and horrible, a family that stayed out of her way and als o offered little advice or conciliation. Her part-time job at the coffee store gave her no rea l joy other than a sometimes steady paycheck, which she blew on things she didn't need or o n nights out with Brad.
    Everything felt so crushed and dejected. She was stuck in the mind-loop of a truly hopeles s person, someone who couldn't even see the light at the end of the tunnel because they didn' t know which direction they were walking in, or were standing stark still.
    Her time had deteriorated into a vast amount of worrying, stress, and insecurities. So sh e had taken to the Internet to find out how to change things. She scrolled through websites an d read about exercise or following passions or anything she could about taking control of he r life.
    She despised the sites that told her to follow her dreams. Though she recognized her ow n cynical nature, she knew that those people were only in it to sell their own products. No on e was perfectly happy, it wasn't possible. Even those who made their living by following thei r dreams, like writers or painters, had to deal with the day to day stresses that everyone els e did. Even more than some. The term, "starving artist" cropped up in her mind. No one wante d to live a remarkable life more than her, but when she really thought about it, she had n o passions. No dreams, no skills, no hopes.
    So, more out of desperation than charity, she volunteered to work at a good wil l establishment. Called, "Carrie Cares" - she had blanched at the name - the place handle d visitations to soup kitchens, clothing distributions, and social programs designed to hel p those less fortunate. She stood outside the headquarters, a rather ramshackle lookin g building that looked like a converted school or warehouse, made of red bricks and blackto p for a parking lot. This was the first change she had initiated in herself in a long time, an d before she could quit or convince herself to leave, she ran up the steps and into th e building.
    The inside was cool but a bit musty. Long ago yellowed white walls cascaded down into lon g hallways. She reaffirmed the idea that this place had once been a school. Fluorescen t lightings already caused her to feel nauseous, which didn't help as it compounded with ho w she already felt. A woman sat at a small reception desk in front of her, and she walked up , with her hands folded over each other. The woman was an elderly woman with short, gray hai r and glasses, but she looked up and smiled and seemed content with her lot. Amy immediatel y wished she had something like that when she was this woman's age. "Hello, sweetie. Can I hel p you?"
    "My name's Amy," she said. "I'm here to volunteer."
    "Ah, wonderful." The woman asked for Amy's last name and began to dig through a small fil e she had on the desk. "It's always nice to see young people help with this kind of thing . Speaks well of your generation." She said this as she had her nose